


Roll the Dice

by samchandler1986



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 01:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19757914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samchandler1986/pseuds/samchandler1986
Summary: How, she wonders, did she ever conceive of a reality where this wasn’t the most awkward moment, even in her long personal history of embarrassing situations?[Prompt fic: your version of the jacuzzi scene in Vegas! :D]





	Roll the Dice

“I still can’t believe your room has a hot tub.”

He shrugs, as the elevator climbs. “It’s not that great.”

“Oh, come _on_ —”

“I’m serious. It’s… noisy. And Federico keeps coming in to, I don’t know, clean it and shit? It’s just a huge fuckin’ distraction—”

“From _what_? The show’s solid. And it’s not like you have lines to learn.”

He makes an irritable sort of noise. “I’m still working on other stuff, alright?”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Silence, filled by the rattle of moving cables. She pushes her luck. “Like… a new script?”

“Oh, God.” He sighs heavily, shaking his head. “No.”

The lift stops; her floor. “No, what?”

He leans against the door as she steps out, stopping it from closing on their conversation. “No, you can’t talk me into letting you read it.”

She rolls her eyes, putting her own shoulder to the corridor wall, dragging out their goodbye. “I didn’t even _ask_.”

“I know, I just…” He stops, sighing again, long suffering. “Fine.”

“What’s fine?”

“You can – you can _look_ at it, alright? But I don’t want _notes_ —”

“So, the point of me reading it would be..?”

“I don’t know! _You’re_ the one who—”

“Look, Sam. If it’s not ready, it’s not ready. I can wait.”

He deflates slightly, folding his arms. “Hmm.”

“Or, you know, I could come up to enjoy the trappings of directorship and just _happen_ to glance—”

“Jesus. Are you really so keen to get in that thing?”

“Yes!” she grins. “It’s like… the most Vegas thing imaginable.”

And tonight has been all about the Sin City experience. Playing blackjack and eating dinner together. His grey sweater and her dowdy knitwear carefully signalling their activity as casual and friendly, rather than anything remotely _date-like_.

Admittedly they might be sailing a little close to the wind, climbing into a hot tub together… _But_ , Ruth tells her rising sense of unease, is there any better way to draw a line under any romance between them, than being perfectly at ease together in their swimwear?

“It’s a fucking white elephant,” he growls, but it’s the rumble of the defeated. “Alright, alright. Just – just give me five minutes to make the place presentable. Okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

She gives him fifteen, covering her bathing suit with tonight’s clothes, finding a towel and a hair tie. And a pencil, she thinks, plucking one from her desk. In case he rescinds his ruling on _notes_.

Reality catches up with her in the elevator, ascending to his floor. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. But chickening out now surely means there _is_ something unspoken still between them…

He opens his door under her slightly tentative knock. “Hey. Uh.” He coughs, clearly a little nervous himself. “Your, um, your Vegas experience continues.” He indicates his room beyond with his arm.

“Thank you.”

She steps over the threshold. He has a point she can immediately see. The room is too small, really, for the tub and the four-poster bed inside. There isn’t anywhere to put her clothes other than on his sheets or the back of his desk chair. He’s turned on all the lamps, but it’s still hotel-dim without Las Vegas sunlight streaming through the windows.

She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. Determined to see a non-awkward version of this scene through.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks. “Cos I was probably going to have a drink.”

She shakes her head. “No, thanks.”

“Right.”

He turns to pour himself a scotch and she uses the break in his focus as an opportunity to strip down quickly. Doesn’t risk looking at him again until she is seated in the hot tub, where she finds him minutely examining his whiskey.

He must feel the weight of her gaze, glancing up to meet her eyes from across the room.

“Do you want me to—?”

“I wasn’t sure if—"

They stutter to a mutual halt. “You first,” he says, taking a sip of the liquid courage she now wishes she’d accepted.

“Um, do you want to…?” She baulks at the words _join me in here_ , waving a hand at the frothing water as if that can convey what she means instead. He just looks at her blankly from Planet Idiot, so she tries again. “I mean, it feels a little awkward if you’re just standing over there.”

“Oh. Fuck. Uh. I just wasn’t sure if—” He grimaces. “Gimme a second.”

She _definitely_ should have accepted the drink. If nothing else, it would be something to occupy her hands and eyes while he clanks about in his bathroom. Presumably stripping down to his own bathing suit—

_How_ , she wonders, did she ever _conceive_ of a reality where this wasn’t the _most_ awkward moment, even in her long personal history of embarrassing situations?

She pretends to be watching the bubbling water when he eventually lumbers out. He drains the rest of his scotch in one fluid motion, slamming the glass down slightly harder than necessary, and comes over to join her. Even in her peripheral vision she can still see too much of him. All that’s usually hidden under old-fashioned jeans and faded shirts. Broad shoulders and biceps; a dusting of salt-and-pepper hair—

_Fuck_ , _fuck, fuck_.

“I told you it wasn’t that great.”

Now he’s safely in the water, bubbling up to his mid chest, she risks looking at him again. “You don’t take off your glasses?”

His face pinches behind those aviator frames. “I like being able to fucking see.”

“Don’t they steam up?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

He sits back in the intervening silence, stretching out, hooking his arms over the edge of the tub. “So, have you decided what you’re doing with your winnings yet?”

“No,” she admits. Starting to relax back herself now, her feet find the edge of one of the jets in the floor. “Maybe I should invest them in the show,” she continues coyly. 

“Maybe.” His pulse, beating his throat, is all she can look at as he stares up at the ceiling in thought. “I mean, it’s going better than I thought it would with ticket sales. I guess I’m hoping…” He trails off with a sigh, realising he’s about to say something he shouldn’t.

“Hoping for what?”

Brown eyes find blue, flinty and dark. Deciding how far, she thinks, he can trust her. “Hoping I might be able to get enough of a stake together to make another movie.”

“The one you’re writing?”

“Ugh. I don’t fuckin’ know, Ruth…”

“You really don’t want any notes?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not ready.”

“Well. We could at least talk through the storyline—?”

“That’s not how I—” he starts to snap, but stops himself almost in time. “I don’t usually work that way,” he tries instead. “You know. Collaboratively.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Oh, this isn’t the _same_ —”

“Why not?”

“Because! It’s just different,” he huffs. The roar of the jets is the only sound for a beat. “What, you think you could work with me? Outside of wrestling, outside of this… crazy fucking thing we’ve gotten ourselves into?”

“I like working with you.” She sounds too earnest, even to her own ears. “You know, when you’re actually _working_ and not just self-destructing.”

“Hmm. Same.”

“Oh, ha-ha.”

“No, no, I do. It’s a… big fuckin’ surprise to me too. But… I do.”

Her mouth is suddenly very dry.

“I, uh… I like hanging out too,” he continues, more hesitant. “This. This has been fun.”

“Yeah,” she creaks. “I—um—”

And it’s time to leave, she thinks. Whatever her stupid plan was about coming here and making everything straightforward has boiled away. Her leg spasms, involuntary, and under the water her foot brushes against his. The contact seems to send her heart into her mouth.

“Ruth?” His voice is similarly thick.

“Uh-huh?”

“Why _did_ you come here tonight?”

For a long moment the only sound is the water bubbling. “I don’t know. I think I was… trying to figure out what it is that I want.”

“And what do you want Ruth?”

“I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“And what’s that?”

He can never make it easy for her. For either of them. She twitches her foot away from his.

“Friendship. Working together. Hanging out. Look, I know there’s an… attraction sometimes. But, really, how long do you think we could make that work? And then we’d lose _everything_. And I don’t think either of us has enough going on right now to want that…”

There’s a word for the look on his face, and it’s not one she thought could ever apply to Sam. He’s a terrible actor. A dreadful poker player. Everything is always right on the surface. And right now, in this moment, the only word she can think of that describes his expression adequately is _heartbroken_.

“I’m sorry,” she hears herself say. She really didn’t come here to hurt him. And a question occurs, one that she’s never really considered before. “What is it that _you_ want?”

“Oh, you know. Friendship. Working together. Hanging out.” He sighs. “To be annoyed by you every goddamn second you’re around, and never understand why I miss that when you’re not. I wanna… be around someone who makes me into an okay kind of person. At least, you know, some of the time.”

She realises she’s holding her breath. “Woah.” Not the right word at all, but what could be?

“I want to make things with you,” he continues. “You know. Collaborate.” The word still sounds like it’s a bad taste in his mouth. “Even though you try _way_ too hard all the time. I want to— _fuck_.” He chuckles to himself, darkly amused at what he’s about to say: “I wanted to be Hitch and Alma. I wanted to fool myself that I could ever be _remotely_ capable of something like that. But you’re right. You’re right. I’m not… We’re not.”

The universe is flapping loose. “Hitch and Alma?” she hears someone say. She realises that it’s her. “You remember that?”

“Obviously.”

“I didn’t think you were really listening.”

“I’m always _listening_. Sometimes it just takes a while to process. Through the breathless enthusiasm.”

She laughs. “Hmm, same. But through the deep, _deep_ cynicism.”

He tilts his head to one side. “Realism.”

“Pessimism.”

“Talk to me in twenty years, that’s all I’m saying.” He considers this. “Through a Ouija board, probably.”

“ _Sam!_ Proving my point much?”

“Sometimes I can’t help myself.” He sniffs. “I’m gonna get another drink. You want one?”

“No. I should… I should probably go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, finding his feet and holding out a hand to help her up. “Probably.”

She takes his hand, and finds herself standing far too close to him. Wet and half-naked; the heavy weight of their confession in her chest making it hard to breathe.

“Ruth?”

“Mm-hm?” It’s a mistake to look up at him. His glasses are starting to fog, like she _knew_ they must.

“Are we okay?”

She nods. “We’re okay. Yeah.”

She can’t kiss him. She _won’t_ kiss him.

She wants to kiss him.

Instead, she presses her lips to his whiskery cheek. “I think we’re good,” she says, next to his ear. “I’m glad we talked.”

“Yeah. I mean, can’t pretend it wouldn’t have been interesting…”

“Definitely interesting,” she breathes, and she can feel him shiver involuntarily. Her hand is still in his. They seem to be stuck, cheek to cheek.

“Ruth?” This time her name is whisper quiet.

And she likes the way it feels, when he says her name. Likes how his nose bumps across her face as he draws back from her. She remembers him looking at her like this once before; the same hammering _fear_ in her chest.

Only this time he doesn’t close his eyes, doesn’t move to kiss her. She could let go of his hand now and just walk away. The stage is set, the pieces all laid out. They can be Sam and Ruth, co-directors, friends. Forever.

And nothing more.

“Oh, _God_ ,” she says, with feeling.

His face asks the question before his mouth can move, frown beetling his eyebrows, moustache quirking as his mouth twists.

But _what?_ he doesn’t get to say, because she’s kissing him like the world ends when she stops.

Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t. This is Vegas, after all. Sometimes you just have to roll the dice…


End file.
